


first time

by largoindminor



Series: wincest love week 2015 [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 19:58:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6022849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/largoindminor/pseuds/largoindminor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>follow up to first kiss, sam and dean's first time</p>
            </blockquote>





	first time

**Author's Note:**

> wincest love week day 1

It’s nearly five years after their _second_ first kiss, five years of long distance promises and late night whiskey soaked confessions, fights and fires and awkward reawakenings, and Sam’s stretched out over their motel bed, hands held in place above his head. Dean’s all over him, kissing, stroking, whispering praise and prayers unintelligible into the elegant curve of Sam’s collarbone. They’ve been this far before, partially clothed and rutting against each other like teenagers, a few sloppy adrenaline-high hand jobs under the covers, but this is different. This is unhurried and full of intent and they don’t need to say the words to communicate but they do anyway.

“Want you, Dean. Please,” words are hard, even now, the slow drag of Dean’s cock against his is maddening, even through two layers of cotton.

“Shh,” Dean answers, then “Yeah. Yeah.” Dean’s hand roams down Sam’s side and hip, he hooks a finger under the elastic waistband of his boxers and pulls down, kneeling back between Sam’s spread legs as he does. “Christ, Sammy,” he huffs when he tosses the boxers to the floor, low and absently in that way he does when he doesn’t realize he’s actually speaking aloud.

The first touch of Dean’s mouth to his cock is _agonizingly_ good, wondrously hot and wet as Dean’s lips seal right over the head with small tongue flicks and soft suckles. It’s not enough to get him off, nor is it meant to be; Dean’s fingers press into him, slick and warm and deliberate, one thick knuckle at a time until Sam’s thighs tremble with the fullness he feels.

“Now,” he says, a hand reaching down to caress the scruff covered curve of Dean’s jaw, “now. C'mere.”

Dean retracts his fingers slowly, kisses the pale skin of Sam’s inner thigh once, removes his shorts, and slides up so they’re face to face. They had shut off the lamp in the room earlier, but streetlights and neon signs shine through the tattered curtains to illuminate them in glows of alternating red and blue and Sam commits to memory the soft shadows of Dean’s face at this angle.

“Ready?” Dean asks, his usually confidence and bravado wavering ever so slightly until Sam smiles and nods twice. “Say it,” Dean says, one side of his lips quirked up in a grin.

“I’m ready. Dean, please. I need you. Inside me.” Sam’s cheeks flush hot but he doesn’t break eye contact.

Dean slides in, biting his lip but not quite managing to stifle the groan that comes from deep in his chest. Sam’s eyes flutter shut, he relaxes around the stretch until the burn gives way to pleasure. 

It’s not particularly athletic, doesn’t last impressively long, but when Sam comes, Dean’s name on his lips, Dean’s hand on his cock, it’s transcendental, it’s spiritual in a way that nothing has ever been. When Dean’s rhythm falters a few minutes later, he empties himself into Sam with tears in his eyes, and Sam holds him close, whispers promises and apologies and nonsense into the dewy crook of Dean’s neck. 


End file.
